


Nothing You Wouldn't Do For Your Child

by Forever_A_Thief



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All mistakes are mine, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Dean Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, F/M, Gen, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester Tries, M/M, Magic, Protective Team Free Will, Sam Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Time Travel, Witches are the worst, don't think about this too deeply, not beta read we die like mne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29911296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forever_A_Thief/pseuds/Forever_A_Thief
Summary: Jack fell on the wrong side of a witch’s curse, and now it’s up to Sam, Dean, and Cas to travel back in time to find something to help him. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for their kid, including dealing with John Winchester.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & John Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

Dean had started pacing about ten minutes ago, after Rowena had explained her hair-brained idea. He didn’t like it, but if it helped Jack…

“And this is really gonna work?” he asked, probably for the fifth or sixth time, shaking his head in disbelief while Rowena began throwing things into the golden bowl on the table. She turned a glare in his direction and pointed wordlessly at the chair. Grumbling, he sat down, though his nervous energy was still thrumming through him, making his leg jump sporadically.

“Samuel,” she groaned, rubbing her temples, “speak _sense_ to your brother! You _need_ the book to save dear Jack, so _the_ _book_ we shall _get_.” When she threw the next ingredient into the bowl, with a little more force than necessary, it began smoking, and Dean eyed it distrustfully. “Have I ever led you astray before?”

Dean ripped his eyes away from the smoking bowl to blink up at the witch in disbelief, before loudly growling, “ _Yes_!” Rowena simply rolled her eyes.

“That’s all water under the bridge, dear. Now, come along. I need some blood.” Dean held his hands to his chest like he was clutching a set of pearls and scowled, but Sam was already reaching out and pricking his own finger, letting the blood well up before squeezing a few drops into the bowl. Stupid, trusting little brother.

“ _Dean_ ,” he sighed, voice heavy with warning. The older Winchester growled lowly to himself but extended his hand, letting Sam nick his finger. The blood rolled down his finger and into the bowl, and the smoking intensified.

“What else?” Sam asked. He glanced behind them, where Jack sat on a stool, scowling at the floor. He was pale and sickly-looking, and Sam just wanted to get this over with so their kid could stop looking so damn miserable.

Not for the first time, Sam kicked himself for being inattentive around the boy; on their last hunt, weeks ago now, a witch had gotten the drop on them, knew they were coming even, and had prepared a spell to weaken any angels they might have with them.

Dean had killed the witch, because he seemed to have some kind of personal vendetta against them so _of course_ he had killed the witch, but not before she had finished her spell. Cas hadn’t been with them at the time, thankfully, but Jack had been, and he had doubled over in pain, clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack.

Over the weeks, while they had searched for a counter curse, Jack had grown sicker, paler, weaker, and they were worried it was only going to get worse.

“Really, you guys don’t have to do this for me. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Dean rolled his eyes, Sam looked about two seconds from waxing poetic about how much they loved him, but Castiel was the one that stepped forward, wrapping their son up in his arms and tugging his head close to his body. Jack held out for about ten seconds, stubbornly refusing the comfort, before finally sagging against his father, a few frustrated tears leaking out of his eyes.

“We care about you, very much, Jack. If this is the worst thing we must do to ensure your safety, and your health, then we will do it without hesitation. Just, keep your ‘ears on’, as Dean would say. We may require your assistance if things do indeed go sideways, as they so often do.”

Jack nodded solemnly, wiping his face and looking up at his family gratefully. “You’ll be careful?” he asked, voice shaking. He sounded so young in that moment, it hurt Dean’s heart to hear.

“Of course,” Castiel said, gently brushing a thumb across Jack’s wet cheek.

“Time to go, boys,” Rowena called, giving the ingredients one last stir. They surrounded her, trading uneasy looks, before linking hands. Rowena began chanting, the candles’ flames growing higher and higher as the bowl caught aflame.

A bright light surrounded them, a high-pitched ringing echoed in their ears, and then they were gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Hitting his knees with a hard _crack_ , Dean lurched forward onto his hands and breathed through a constricted airway, trying to catch his breath. God, but that was like a kick to the chest. “Sam?” he called, voice husky and deep scratchy like he had been yelling. “Cas?” He took a moment to get his bearings before looking around, searching out his brother and his friend. Sam was sprawled on his back a few feet away, also trying to catch his breath; Cas was already picking himself up from the floor, helping first Sam, and then Dean, to their feet.

“Where are we?” Sam asked, but the question was cut off by the sound of a shotgun cocking. They slowly raised their hands, turning around to face the person on the other end of that gun.

John Winchester, all of forty-five, _maybe_ fifty years old, stood behind them, shotgun raised and aimed their direction, a scowl firmly in place as he eyed them all warily.

“Who are you?” he barked, all Marine, all the time. “What the _hell_ are you doing in my motel room?”

Dean stared at him in shock for probably longer than he should have, seeing as he had a gun trained on them, before he turned on Sam, dropping his arms so he could wave them in their father’s direction. “What the hell, Sam? Did Rowena screw up the spell? This is not what we were going for!”

Sam held his hands up in defense, shaking his head and looking just as confused as Dean felt. “I don’t know, man. We did what the spell said. Maybe the-,” he paused, giving John a long look, before continuing in a quieter voice, “the _thing_ we need is here, somewhere. Wouldn’t be the first time something important was right under our noses.”

“Excuse me!” John barked again, waving the gun menacingly, as if they had forgotten he had it. “Who the _fuck_ are you?”

“Calm down,” Dean growled, and was more than a little proud that that made John falter, gun dropping an inch as he fought the instinct to follow orders in that tone of voice. Dean was already over this whole situation, and it hadn’t even been five minutes, yet. “Take a closer look, Dad. It’s us. Sam and Dean. Your _sons_.”

John hesitated for a long moment, lowering the gun a few more inches as he squinted at them suspiciously, taking in their features in the dim light. It took him a minute but eventually his face lit up in recognition, moving to point the gun purposefully at the ground.

“Sit,” John ordered, pulling out a silver knife. Dean smirked at this old song and dance, when the worst thing that happened to them was shapeshifters and demons. He sat on the edge of the bed and bared his arm, Sam following suit though he looked more than a little longsuffering for doing so. After he gave each of them a cut, and nothing happened, John turned to Castiel, waving for him to roll his sleeve up, as well.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel did as was asked of him, though he didn’t look happy about the delay in their mission. “That’s not going to do anything to me, either,” he grumbled lowly, but let John cut his arm all the same. Dean leaned across the bed to pat his arm consolingly, smirk in place as his eyes sparkled at Cas’s grumpiness.

“Alright,” John said, propping the gun up against the wall and placing both hands on his hips, looking the three over critically. “What the devil is going on, boys? You look like you’ve been through a damn _war_.”

Dean stood, moving to take his placed beside Cas; he had spent more than enough time with John towering over him with a bad attitude and he definitely wasn’t going to tolerate it today, not when their kid’s life was at stake.

“Well, a lot’s going on,” Dean started, voice jolly but eyes dancing dangerously. “A witch friend of ours seems to have botched a spell, and here we are.” Dean clapped a heavy hand on Sam’s shoulder and Sam kicked him in the leg, leaning back against the bed and shrugging off the paw on his shoulder.

“What year is it?” Sam asked instead of touching that topic with a ten-foot pole; it _had_ been his idea to ask Rowena for help.

John watched their interaction with a raised eyebrow, obviously trying to superimpose the boys he knew in this time over the ones in front of him, now. He eventually broke away from his internal panic to rub anxiously at the back of his neck, walking away to settle at the little table by the window. Maybe some distance would help him wrap his mind around this whole situation?

“2004. I was working an easy salt-n-burn. Just finished up when you three fell through my damn closet door.”

Dean’s head jerked up at that, turning to trade a significant look with his brother. Through the closet door, huh? Just like when Henry had time-travelled to _their_ motel room. Man, if magic wasn’t cyclic and all that jazz.

John was giving them another funny look, no doubt seeing the odd exchange and filing it away for later review. He found his eyes falling to the side more often than not, though, glancing at Cas out of the corner of his eye. Dean noticed his distraction first and sighed, waving a hand between Cas and their dad.

“Oh,” he said, like it had slipped his mind that Cas and John Winchester had never technically met. “Dad, this is Castiel. Cas, this is John Winchester.” In a lower voice, meant just for Cas, Dean said, “Don’t punch him, please.”

Cas gave Dean a look that obviously stated _I make no promises_ , before turning a fierce, warrior-of-the-heavenly-host gaze on the man in front of him. “John Winchester,” he boomed, using a bit of his grace to let the tiniest hint of his true voice shine through, and felt satisfaction at the fact that the man flinched, “Nice to meet you, I suppose.” John reared back like someone had slapped him, eyes wide as he looked Cas up and down, one hand rubbing at his ear.

“Likewise?” John said, sounding unsure about that. “Surprised you boys let another hunter tag along with you,” he mumbled afterwards, though he sounded like he didn’t quite believe his own words. This man, a _hunter_? “Taught you better than that, didn’t I?”

Dean glared at his father’s words, stepping forward to throw a heavy arm around Castiel’s shoulders; he didn’t even stumble at the force of the movement. Sam, likewise, glared at John, shaking his head like he was more than disappointed. “Cas is a good guy,” Dean said passionately, shaking Castiel’s shoulders and tugging him closer. “He’s saved our asses more than once.” With a hard, world-wearing look on his face, Dean continued. “And, actually,” he said, like he just wanted to dig the knife a little deeper, “we know quite a few hunters, nowadays. Have a big ol’ ragtag group of friends and contacts and acquaintances all over the country. Hell, we even got some contacts over in the UK. Hunting world got a lot more connected over the years. It’s better that way.”

John hummed noncommittedly, not so sure about all of that. It was odd that Dean was being so touchy-feely with another person, too, but he wasn’t going to unpack that now. Instead, he glanced out the window again, scowling when he didn’t see the Impala there.

“You, well. Younger-you should be back in a few; went out to grab dinner,” John said, turning back to the boys and their scary friend.

Dean glanced off to the side, expression screwed up like he was doing a feat of mental gymnastics. Eventually, his face lit up with the memory. “This wouldn’t happen to be Cantonville, would it?” When John nodded, looking curious, Dean smirked. A low, mean laugh left his lips, and John felt a chill crawl down his back. What the hell? “Yeah, man. I’m not coming back. If I remember right, I’m probably about halfway out of the state right now.”

John looked gob smacked for all of three seconds before he whirled back towards the window, pulling up the blinds and looking around the desolate parking lot with a furious expression on his face. But, of course, there was no black Impala parked near his monster of a truck, or anywhere else he could see. John turned on Dean, face red and eyes blazing.

Dean didn’t even flinch.

“And just where the hell did you think you were going? We weren’t done here!”

Before Dean could answer, Cas spoke up instead. “You just said you finished the case. What more would there be to do?” he asked, posing it as a rational question; John wasn’t in the mood to be listening to _rational questions_.

“You used me as _bait_ ,” Dean ground out, returning John’s glare full-force. Sam and Cas both turned as one on John with matching looks of indignant fury, and John most decidedly did not squirm beneath the look. “Didn’t tell me jack-shit, just up and disappeared while I was fighting off the ghost with a damn iron fire poker. When you finally decided to show back up, I was bleeding, had a nasty concussion, and you had the gall to _laugh_ about it. Like we were _both_ in on the joke. Hell yeah, I left your ass behind. You don’t see me for another, oh, four months or so after this.”

John gaped at Dean like he had just socked him in the gut, though he didn’t look nearly as guilty as Dean had maybe hoped he would. Instead, his anger was getting the better of him, as it always had; he looked about two seconds from ripping Dean limb from limb.

“Wow,” Sam drawled unconcerned from the side lines, leaning back against the bed on his arms, taking in the scene. “Just like old times, huh, Dean?” That seemed to break the tension, and Dean reared his head back, smirking in Sam’s direction. Castiel rolled his eyes, and John slowly felt his heart rate slow, the red in his vision receding enough to realize he had just made an ass of himself, but no one was even batting an eye.

“No wonder you had such a shit reputation with other hunters,” Sam went on, shaking his head. “I mean, you used other people as bait _all the time_. Most of the people that worked with you either got hurt or killed.” He paused for a moment, seemingly thinking over his next words, before shaking his head and plowing on, face set and determined. “We met the Harvelles. Eventually.”

John paled a little at that but nodded, looking away out the window again, unable to meet their hard, judging gazes.

“Are we done arguing now?” Cas asked into the silence, sounding exasperated. Dean laughed loudly, clapping his hand down on the other man’s shoulder.

“Yeah, buddy. We’re fine. Should probably move on, anyhow. Hmm?”

“What are you three even here for, anyway?” John asked, trying desperately to bridge this enormous gap between him and his boys. In his head, he was still raging at Dean, furious that he had left without permission, but he realized he couldn’t really take it out on this Dean without making an even bigger ass of himself than he already had. Moving on with this conversation sounded best.

Sam sighed, blowing out a long breath and ruffling his hair up in the process. “We, uh. Well, we need something that got destroyed a long time ago. I didn’t think this was how we were going to get ahold of it, though. If we take it from this timeline without returning it, we won’t have it in your present timeline when we need it. Unless Cas can make a copy, or something. Rowena wasn’t very upfront about the spell.”

John bristled at that. Spellwork? “You working with witches now, too? Never thought I’d see the day,” John drawled distrustfully. How much had the future changed these boys? Dean just rolled his eyes, and John was starting to hate that sign of constant, blatant disrespect.

“Witches, and demons, and angels and werewolves and vampires, too. Some of my best friends are monsters,” Dean said. “Though, the witches are usually more friendly with Sam. He can geek out with them about magic and history and spells and shit.”

Blinking in shock, John decided to think about all of that later (or _never_ ) and moved on. “So what exactly is it that you need?”

Dean was loudly grinding his teeth together and Sam looked more than unhappy, but he did eventually answer. “A spell book,” he admitted, unhelpfully, not meeting John’s eyes. So, was it really a spell book they were after, or something else? Sam’s face had changed over the years, but that was definitely his lying-face.

Crossing his arms, John leveled Sam with his most unimpressed look and waited. When all Sam did was continue to stare at the floor, John broke first. “Wanna try that again, without the bad attempt at lying?”

Sam rolled his shoulders and turned away from John, throwing a short glance Dean’s way before Castiel took over, once more. “It is of no import for you to know. We will be leaving, and you need not worry about the outcome. I should remove these memories, so we do not disrupt the timeline.” He raised two fingers, reaching into John’s personal space and nearly touching his forehead before John reacted, swinging an arm up to swat the man’s hand away from his face.

Scowling darkly, John glared at the boys. The boys who hadn’t moved a muscle to intervene, with _whatever the hell_ that had been. “What the fuck, boys? You’re here, I may as well help you.” Then he turned and eyed the third man suspiciously. “And what was that about wiping my memory? You can _do_ that?”

The man, Castiel, nodded, as if that were a perfectly normal thing to admit to. “Of course. I am an angel of the Lord.” He paused, head tilting to the side as he seemed to weight his words. “Well, I’ve Fallen, but I still have _some_ power at my disposal.”

“An _angel_?” John asked, calling bullshit all over this. Why did the boys think they had to continue lying to him? “Yeah, and I’m the Easter Bunny.”

Dean snorted and traded an amused looked with Sam, before taking control of the conversation once more. “He’s not lying. Cas is a true-blue angel. Do the wing-thing, Cas, that always convinces people.”

Castiel looked more than ready to start throwing punches, but took a steadying breath and nodded, tilting his head down and fully facing John as his blue eyes turned electric, the lights began flickering in the room, and a burst of light cast large shadows against the far wall in the shape of injured, broken wings that could hardly extend past his shoulders. He held the pose for a moment before the lights returned to normal and the man just looked like any other regular, sleep-deprived tax accountant.

“Holy shit,” John breathed out, glad that he was already sitting down. Though the angel ( _angel_ ) seemed to be injured, the amount of power radiating off him was enough to leave John quaking in his boots, though he tried to control it. He looked past Castiel’s shoulders to gauge the boys’ reactions, but he was a little miffed to see Dean was just grinning, and Sam looked disinterested. As if they weren’t even a little bit terrified by that show of raw power.

Were they _stupid_? Had he honestly raised two idiots?

Dean seemed to realize where his thoughts were going, because he just laughed, reaching out to tug the angel against his side again. Castiel the angel went willingly, practically melting against Dean’s side as the hunter jostled him gently, and suddenly Dean’s words from earlier made more sense _: Some of my best friends are monsters_. Huh.

“Not that he’s not scary as shit, but after you’ve seen him grumpy in the morning without a cup of coffee, or waxing poetic about bees, or looking confused about movie references, he’s not so intimidating. At least, not to us. He’s been a part of our family for, what, twelve years now? Nearly thirteen?”

Castiel hummed in agreement before letting Dean’s arm fall from his shoulders as he turned and dropped down on the bed beside Sam, hands clasped between his knees as he sighed.

“We really should hurry to find what we came here for. I don’t think we should linger longer than we need, lest we wish to catch Heaven’s attention.”

“Then we should get to it, yeah?” John said, shifting in his seat and trying to convey to his boys that he was willing to help, hopeful for it, even. They had changed so much, it seemed, and he would be lying if he didn’t admit he was curious about what kind of men they had grown to be.

Sighing, Sam nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek piece of technology. John watched him closely as he swiped a finger across the screen, then began poking at it. When he caught John’s grumpy, curious gaze, he stood and moved closer, showing John what he was doing.

“This is my cell phone. Everybody’s got one now and they’ve gotten a lot better, a lot faster. Kind of like a little computer you can carry around with you.” He turned the phone so John could see what he had pulled up. There was a picture there, of an old, leatherbound book. He couldn’t make out the title, but it looked ancient, probably rare, and he wasn’t sure where the hell the boys thought they were going to find it.

“My best bet would be that Bobby has it,” Dean said, arms folded across his chest, face hard and eyes focused now that they were getting down to business. “We thought the spell would take us to his place, so we could just borrow it, but I guess that blood we used took us to our blood in the here-and-now, instead. I’m going to _kill_ Rowena,” he told Sam seriously, sounding grumpy about the whole situation. Sam just rolled his eyes and took the phone back.

“No, you aren’t,” he said in response, sounding exasperated.

Dean huffed, nearly pouting. “No, I’m not.” He didn’t sound happy about it, though.

“So, Bobby’s then?” John asked. He wasn’t really looking forward to seeing the man again; last time they hadn’t parted on such great terms, and he didn’t enjoy the thought of a gut full of buckshot.

Dean grinned, looking excited now. “Bobby’s.”


	3. Chapter 3

They waited long enough for John to gather up his things, then they all piled into his monster of a truck, Sam up front with John while Dean and Cas squeezed together in the back seat. John thought that was a little weird, but didn’t point it out; he wasn’t blind, he had seen the way the angel and his oldest looked at each other. The way Dean kept touching him, drawing him close, the way the angel allowed it. The guy was apparently a warrior of Heaven, and he was just letting some human man-handle him like it was nothing? No, there was _something_ going on there.

The drive to Bobby’s was fairly quiet; John had spent countless hours with his boys in the backseat while he drove cross-country, and they had never _once_ been this quiet. He kept glancing in the rear-view mirror to check on Dean and the angel, but they seemed to be in their own little world, quietly speaking back and forth, heads bent close together as they whispered. Sam seemed uninterested, like this was not new and worrying behavior.

As the sun started setting on the horizon, John reached out to turn up the Led Zeppelin playing on the radio and, just like every other time it came on, his thoughts turned to Mary. He had made her a mixtape of his favorite songs when they were first dating. Those were the good times, before everything went up in flames.

Castiel, the angel, seemed to perk up at the song, a little smile on his face as he glanced meaningfully at Dean, who simply chuckled brightly and nodded in response. John wasn’t sure what exactly that was supposed to mean, but the angel leaned back in his seat comfortably and did something with his hands that John couldn’t quite see.

“You two are disgustingly adorable,” Sam said from the front seat, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling, too, in that annoying little brother way he had. Dean was grinning manically now, leaning forward between the seats to get closer to his brother so he could flick him in the nose.

“Shut up, you and Eileen are worse.” Sam flicked Dean in the forehead in retaliation and Dean reared back, still grinning wide like he had won some great argument.

“Only because you two have been making heart eyes at each other for _twelve_ _years_ , and I’ve only known Eileen for like, _three_.”

“Eileen your girl, then?” John asked, getting off the interstate when he saw the sign for Sioux Falls. He wasn’t an idiot; he could read between the lines here. He wouldn’t say he was 100% shocked at the revelation that Dean was dating a guy, but he _was_ a little confused about how open he was being about it. So, for the moment, he was going to shelve it for later, like so many other things he had over the years.

“Yeah,” Sam said on a sigh, looking lovesick and happy. “She’s a hunter, too. We met on a case, actually, and helped each other out. Now that things are starting to calm down, we’ve decided to really give it a shot.”

John nodded, glad that his boy had found someone in the nebulous future. “Eileen’s kickass,” Dean chimed in, punching Sam in the shoulder with his free hand. “She’s deaf, so we all learned sign language for her, too. And Jack thinks the sun shines out of her ass, it’s adorable.”

Dean seemed to realize he had said something he shouldn’t have when Sam whipped around, glaring at him meaningfully. Dean held his hands up, looking fully unrepentant. “What? He’s not going to remember any of this at the end of the day. He can know about me and Cas, and you and Eileen, and our _fucking_ kid! None of it matters, Cas will just wipe him clean before we leave. Calm down, Sam.”

There was a long, heavy silence that followed that statement. John shifted uncomfortably and wished they would stop bringing up the fact that they planned to take away his memories of this day. But he had to know, even if it was going to be gone in the morning.

“You got a kid?”

Dean turned to him, then, smile real and wide and genuine. The brightest thing John had seen on him in years. “Technically adopted. He’s half angel, half human. Cas knew his mom, but when Nephilim are born, they kill their mother. Not the kid’s fault, just the way it is.”

“Kelly was extremely sad that she wasn’t going to see her son grow up, but in the end, she was at peace with dying if it meant Jack could live. She entrusted me with his care, and he’s been with us since.” He seemed to think over his words, before continuing, “Well, most of the time.”

“He, uh. He looks like a twenty-year old, but he’s really only four. He’s a good kid.” John nodded at Sam’s words, still trying to absorb all of this. He saw the sign for Singer Salvage and turned right, heading down the familiar gravel drive. He didn’t miss the three very obvious sighs of relief when the house came into view, but he did raise a curious brow, glancing at them out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ve missed this house,” Castiel said on a breath, peeking through the back window and smiling fondly up at the house. Dean looked more wistful, and sad, and John just knew in his gut that Bobby wasn’t around in their time. At least, not anymore.

“No panic room in the basement this time, but it’ll do,” Sam said with a chuckle, and John couldn’t fight his reaction; he turned and gave Sam an incredulous look. _Panic room_? What the hell?

“At least I will not have to worry about angel wards here this time,” Castiel grumbled, and Dean rammed an elbow into his side with a _Look_.

“No angel wards anywhere near here, man. No one even believes in angels right now. You’re fine.”

John pulled up in front of the house and threw the truck into park, taking a deep breath before psyching himself up to seeing Bobby Singer again. Before he had even opened his door, though, Bobby appeared at the front door, shotgun ready as he stared John down.

Sam, Cas, and Dean hopped out of the truck before John could convince himself to move and were already moving toward the porch. “Heya, Bobby!” Dean called, grin wide and joy practically radiating off him as he moved closer. Bobby faltered, blinking down at the men standing in his front yard, glaring at them in confusion even as he resettled the gun at their feet.

“Dean? Sam?” He looked between them hard before shaking his head and taking another step back. “What?”

“It’s a long story,” Dean started, shifting uncomfortably when he realized Bobby wasn’t going to be welcoming them with open arms like he had hoped. “We’re from the future, no big deal. Just need to borrow a book we think you might have, and we’ll be on our way.”

Sam turned and gave Dean a _what the fuck_ look, but Dean just shrugged. Castiel sighed, rolling his eyes, and John figured that was probably his cue to enter the conversation.

“I really believe it’s them, Singer,” John said gruffly, glancing between the boys before shaking his head. “Don’t really understand half of what comes out of their mouths, but they seem legit.” Dean snorted at that, and Sam seemed to bristle. Cas just looked indifferent, if a little impatient.

“You can test us with silver, or iron, or throw holy water on us. We’ll survive, promise,” Dean said with a forced grin, already rolling up his sleeve and aiming his arm towards Bobby. He couldsee the fresh scar from the knife John had used earlier in the day and slowly shook his head.

“I suppose I’ll take your word for it, ya paranoid bastard,” Bobby said, already looking like he regretted saying it. “Get in here, ya idgits, before I change my mind.”

Dean, Sam, and Cas filed into the house and immediately settled on the couch and the armchair by the fireplace, like it was second nature. John followed a step behind, trading awkward eye contact with Bobby before shuffling further into the room, positioning himself behind the sofa and leaning against the wall.

“Alright, now what’s this about a book?”

“Uh, right,” Sam said, tearing his eyes away from Bobby long enough to pull his phone out again, bringing the picture up to show Bobby. “It’s called the _Occultum Occularum_? We would have used the one from our time, but your house kind of, burned down, a while back.”

Bobby stared at them for a long moment, apparently digesting that fact, before he turned to the library and started rooting through books. Castiel stood as well, moving around the room and taking in the books, the weapons, the dust surrounding them with a fond look in his eyes. Dean watched him with a soft face, but Sam just looked sad.

Bobby grabbed a book from one of the shelves but held on to it, eyeing Sam carefully. “And just what do you need this book for, exactly?” He sounded suspicious, but when _didn’t_ he?

When neither Sam nor Dean seemed happy to answer, Castiel did instead, turning his intense eyes on Bobby as he explained. “Our child was cursed by a witch, and his grace was bound. It has caused him great discomfort, and we fear it may have worse side effects if we cannot reverse it. There is a spell in this book, which I read years ago, in this very room, that could help him. However, I could not recall the specifics, and I did not want to guess with my son’s life in the balance.”

“Your… child?” he asked, sounding shocked as he turned to look between Dean and Castiel.

Dean threw his hands up, running a shoulder into Sam when he started laughing a little hysterically. “Are you kidding me? We haven’t been here five minutes and you already think I’ve been banging the angel? I mean, I _have_ , but that’s not the _point_. Also, _really_?” he asked, sounding a little squeaky the longer he ranted. “ _That’s_ what you focused on? Not that the kid is _dying_ , but that he’s _our_ kid?”

“So, it is your kid?” Bobby asked, like a dog with a bone. Sam was really laughing now, and Dean sighed, deflating beneath Bobby’s expectant glare.

“He’s our kid, but he’s adopted. He’s still a Winchester, though.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” Bobby said with a smirk, before plopping the book down in front of Sam. Sam smiled, taking the book carefully, before he started rifling through the pages, looking for something specific.

After a few minutes of searching, Castiel peering over his shoulder, Sam let out a sound of relief. Dean huddled closer too, squinting at the book and trying to make heads or tails of the elegant handwriting.

“Here it is. Rowena should be able to use this to help Jack. It’ll work, right, Cas?” He looked up at Cas, who was reading the spell very, very carefully. After a few moments, he nodded slowly, looking hopeful for the first time that day.

“I believe this is what we were looking for. I would advise taking a picture,” he started, but Sam was already pulling his phone out and taking a few pictures from different angles. Finally, he closed the book and sighed, stroking the cover for a moment before looking back up at Bobby and John.

“Thank you, for trusting us. I know this is crazy, but you’ll get used to it one day.” He turned his head towards the ceiling and called out. “Jack? We’re ready to go home.”


	4. Chapter 4

Nothing happened for a moment. They waited in silence, staring at the space in front of them, and then suddenly there was another young man standing in the room. He smiled, happy as he took in the scene around himself.

“Ready to go home?” he asked, moving to Castiel’s side and peeking over their shoulders at the book on the table. “All this trouble for one little spell?” he asked, a moue of distaste on his face.

Dean bristled at that, just like he had earlier, but stood up this time, pulling the kid into his arms. The boy, Jack, let out a whoosh of air, surprised, but melted easily into the hug, tucking his face into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“All this trouble for _you_ , kid. We’re not going to let you die. Rowena will fix this, and you’ll be right as rain. You’re our kid, we’re not giving up without a fight.”

The boy sniffled a little and reached up to wrap his arms around Dean in return, holding the back of his jacket in a white-knuckled grip. “I appreciate that,” Jack said softly, leaning back to give Dean a smile. He nodded, clapping a hand to Jack’s shoulder, before turning back to the room.

“Time to go, guys,” he told the others, and they nodded. Sam moved first, stepping up to Bobby and wrapping him up in tight hug. Dean followed immediately afterwards, and even Castiel gave him a warm, solemn nod. Then the boys moved on to John, each giving him a short hug as well. He definitely noticed the difference between how they acted towards Bobby, versus how they had acted with him, and it rankled at his sensibilities.

“You take care of yourselves, boys,” John said, feeling a little choked up all of a sudden; damn dusty house Bobby kept, no doubt. They nodded, turning as one to take Jack’s hands. Castiel moved towards them both, pressing two fingers to each of their foreheads, and they collapsed to the floor. Castiel laid Bobby out on the sofa and dropped John into the armchair, then placed a few half-empty beer bottles around them. Upon waking, he was sure they would just assume they had drunk too much the night before.

“Time to go?” Jack asked, and Castiel nodded, joining the group. Jack closed his eyes, glowing faintly gold, and then they were gone in a burst of light.

The next morning, John blinked open gummy eyes, rubbing at his face as he groaned at the headache. Looking around, he found himself in Bobby Singer’s living room, the old drunk passed out on his own sofa next to him.

Hmm, weird, but not the weirdest way he’d ever woken up. He gathered his things as quietly as he could and snuck out of the house; he wasn’t too keen on Bobby waking up and shooting at him again.

It _was_ weird, though, he thought as he got a safe distance away in his truck. He didn’t remember coming to Bobby’s house, or drinking the night away, or even why the hell he was in Sioux Falls to begin with.

Whatever, he decided. Didn’t matter. He was getting the hell out of Dodge. There was a weird feeling in his gut as he drove away, like he was forgetting something important, or that there should have been more people in the cab with him. He shook his head. What a stupid thing to think. He kept driving, putting Sioux Falls far behind him, already thinking about where he could look for his next hunt.

Travelling via angel express was a lot less jarring than via spell, and Dean had Cas to thank that his stomach was so used to travel like this that he barely acknowledged it, other than a small stumble as he tried to find his equilibrium.

Sam shoved his phone in Rowena’s face as soon as he found his bearings, and Castiel helped Jack sit down to catch his breath. The kid was looking pale again, even a little more sickly than before, too. Dean moved to the kitchen and filled a glass of water, before returning and silently pressing it into Jack’s shaking hands. He drank from it gratefully before setting it aside, hands fidgeting in his lap while he waited for Rowena’s judgement.

She scanned the picture, eyes flying back and forth as she hummed at the information. “This should help,” she finally said, nodding along as she began piling things up on the table. Dean hovered over Jack while they waited. Sam helped her pull together the ingredients. With Castiel’s comforting hand on his shoulder, Jack practically collapsed against his father, burying his face in Castiel’s hip.

“It’s gonna be okay, kid,” Dean said gently, rubbing Jack’s back. He couldn’t do much more in that moment.

“Jack,” Sam called eventually, waving him closer to the table. Jack reluctantly pulled himself away from Castiel’s side, letting Dean’s hand fall from his shoulder, and stood in front of Sam and Rowena, shoulders set and back straight as he surveyed the tools on the table.

“We’re going to try this spell, and it should help ease the restrictions on your grace, if not fully release you. Here’s hoping for the best,” Sam said, throwing a few things into the bowl on the table, and then Rowena began chanting. Jack closed his eyes and waited for _something_ to happen. After a few more minutes of chanting, something shifted in his chest, like a tight band being released, and Jack let out a _whoof_ of pent-up air.

Power flooded through his body, filling in every crevice and crack, healing the broken parts of him and easing the aching pain that had plagued him for weeks now, ever since he had been cursed.

“I think it worked,” he said excitedly, turning a grin up at his family. Rowena looked proud, and Sam, Dean, and Cas were all excited, smiling and crowding close, reaching out to touch, to hug, to clap him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Rowena. All of you, really. Thank you. I know this wasn’t easy.” He shifted uneasily, but his family was never going to let that go.

“You’re our kid, Jack,” Dean told him gruffly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him close. “We’d do anything for you, you know that. Blast to the past wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever had to do,” he said with a laugh, ruffling Jack’s hair before finally letting him go.

“Still, thank you. I do appreciate it.” With the power running through his body, humming with delight, Jack felt more like himself than he had in weeks. Looking around at his family and his friend, he couldn’t be happier. He always knew they loved him, but it was nice to be reminded every now and then. What lengths they were willing to go to save him, it was astounding sometimes.

His family loved him, and it was nice to know they would face anything, _anyone_ , for him. “I love you,” he said, simple as that, and the others smiled, understanding what he really wanted to say beneath those words.

“Us too,” Dean said with a nod, and that was that. Rowena cleared up her things, gave Jack a tight hug, and then moved on. Sam moved to the table in the library with a stack of books and lost himself there. Dean and Cas took each other’s hands and disappeared to their room. Jack watched them all disperse, like it was no skin off their noses that they had time travelled, or seen their long-dead family, all for him.

Just another Thursday, it seemed.

Jack shook his head at the thought, but couldn’t deny the truth of it. He loved his crazy life, and his crazy family, and settled down at the table across from Sam with his laptop, trying to emulate their casualness. This was his home, this was his family, and he couldn’t ask for more.


End file.
